The Adventures of Akbar | Page 6

his
enemies as a King! Quick! slaves! Close the tent door and let us bring
forth all we have, and make all things as regal as we can. There is no
time to lose."
And they did not lose any. The result being that when, quarter of an
hour afterward, Prince Askurry, bitterly disappointed at finding that his
real quarry, the King and Queen, had escaped, strode with some of his
followers into the tent where he was told Baby Akbar was to be found,
he paused at the door, first in astonishment and then in amusement.
It was really rather a pretty picture which he saw. To begin with the
tent had been lit up with the little rushlight lamps they call in India
chiraghs--tiny saucers which can be made of mud in which a cotton
wick floats in a few drops of oil--and a row of these outlined the mule
trunk throne. Then Meroo's misshapen limbs had been hidden under a
chain corselet and helmet, so he made quite a respectable fellow to Old
Faithful, as the two supporters stood bolt upright with drawn swords
one on either side, while beneath them, on the ragged old Persian carpet
which had been spread to hide the dirty tent drugget, crouched
Head-nurse and Foster-mother, their faces veiled with their best gold
embroidered veils.
A great pile of cushions had been placed on the muletrunk, and in the
centre of these sat Baby Akbar, the Royal heron's plume of his turban
waving gently in the breeze caused by the slow dignified sweep of the
Royal fan which Roy, who stood behind his young master, was
swinging backwards and forwards.
But it was not the prettiness of the picture which made Prince Askurry
pause. It was the child's open fearless face which reminded him at
once--as King Humâyon had hoped it might--of that dear, beloved
father whose memory, even in their worst wickednesses, was ever a
good influence in the lives of his sons. Babar the Brave! Babar of the
Generous Heart! the Kindly Smile! Who could forget him?
But behind Prince Askurry were others who did not remember; who

were eager to kill and have done with Humâyon and his son for ever.
And when they saw Prince Askurry pause, they were quick with advice.
"It is unwise to spare snakes' spawn," said one.
[Illustration: Prince Askurry ... strode ... into the tent.]
"The boy is father to the man," said another. "He who is wise kills
young rats as well as old ones."
And still Prince Askurry paused while poor Head-nurse and Wet-nurse
went sick with fear under their veils at what might be going to happen,
and Old Faithful's hand clasped the hilt of his sword tighter, since come
what may he meant to strike one blow for his young master. But Roy's
keen eyes showed--as the peacock's feather fan swept past them
backwards and forwards--like a hawk's as it hovers above a partridge.
There was in them a defiance, a certainty that victory must come.
Suddenly a wicked laugh filled the tent. "Peace! brothers," said a
sneering voice, "Prince Askurry prefers to leave the snake to fight with
his own son in the future."
The taunt told. It was true! Better to scotch the snake now, than to leave
it to be dangerous by and by; dangerous perhaps to his own little son
who was but a few years older than Baby Akbar.
Prince Askurry strode forward drawn sword in hand; but whether he
really meant to use it or not cannot be told, for a very strange thing
happened. Baby Akbar had been listening to the fierce voices just as he
had listened to the angry voices when Adam had refused to salute. And
now he saw some one before him who appeared to have no
intention--as Adam had no intention--of making his reverence; so,
remembering the fine thing he had done when the latter had been
naughty, up went the little hand again, and once more the loud, deep,
baby voice said imperiously:
"Salute! Slave! salute!"

The words were barely uttered when by pure chance Prince Askurry's
foot caught in the ragged carpet, and----?
And down he came flat as a pancake on the floor in the very lowliest
salute that ever was made!
The next moment, however, he sat up, half-stunned, and looked
wrathfully at his little nephew.
But Baby Akbar's honest open face was full of grieved sympathy.
"Poor, poor!" he said, shaking his quaintly crowned head, "tumbu down.
Nanna kiss it, make it well."
Prince Askurry sat stupidly staring for a moment or two. Then the
memory of many a childish hurt cured by like gracious offer from his
father came back to him, making his heart soft. He sprang to his feet
and waved